


Compromise

by viatorix



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, M/M, Mutually beneficial sexual arrangement, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viatorix/pseuds/viatorix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen and Cassandra have an arrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is was requested by the lovely art-by-g. I'm sorry it took a while for me to get this thing out, but here it is!

Cullen pulled his mantle tighter around himself as he trudged a muddy track through the training field. Sleets of rain had come down the night before, tempering the mountain chill. Unless the soldiers wanted to be covered in mud up to their gilets, then they would have to wait until the ground had hardened and the rain clouds caught on the mountain peaks. Respite or not, that didn’t stop the Commander from making his way to the armoury and forge, where he could hear the clang of hammers on metal from within. While some may have been given a day’s rest, they kept on. Shields, swords, maces, and plate all still needed to be crafted unless the Inquisitor wanted to send his soldiers at the enemy in their small clothes. Smoke from the forge wafted to meld with the pewter sky. Cullen watched it as he walked, keeping his mind at ease as he followed the same path he took twice weekly ever since arriving in Skyhold.

She would be waiting for him in there, as she always did at this hour. Cassandra kept a stricter schedule than even Cullen did. Probably not as difficult a thing as first thought, considering his tendency to get lost in his reports. Lately though, in regards to this… _arrangement_ , he had kept an eye on the hour. The need had become pressing in recent weeks. With the Red Templars gaining more ground, Cullen had felt the pressure hot in his temples. The headaches flared, even in the high chill of the Frostbacks, and with the constant brand of Samson’s name, the memories nipped at his heels with a vengeance. Now, more than ever he needed to the sanctity and release that the Seeker offered.

His footsteps weren’t quiet on the stairwell. The aged wood creaked and groaned as he pulled himself upward through the armoury. A few workers hailed to him as he passed, but asked no more of his polite nod. His comings and goings here had become routine for them as well.

He found the woman seated against the back wall. She quietly flicked at the pages of one of Varric’s serials in the light of a spindly candle and the bright glow of the forge below.

Cullen cleared his throat. Anxiety had whittled a hollow in his gut the first few times they had done this, but eventually it became such a norm that he could no longer feel even an inkling. Maker, how his face had _burned_ at his choked request to the woman. How could one ask such a thing, especially to the likes of a noble woman and a hand of the Divine herself? Cassandra had said that she would be willing to hear any manner of thing that ailed him, but this askance had felt a stumble too far. And yet, hear him, she did. Most surprisingly she did not turn his desperation away, as desperation it certainly was.

Nothing had been working. For the most part, he knew what to expect with the dwindling lyrium in his veins. He had read the accounts. He had even asked those Templars that had, had withdrawals themselves. He could die, he knew that. He would have agonising dreams, and pulsing headaches, he knew that too. But this? The overwhelming heat in his groin? There had always been a certain need there, one that had made him bare his neck to a certain older man. But now that need had turned ten-fold. There was no relief to it. The dark hours of the night had him writhing between his sheets in frustration when it wasn’t in fear. A hand on his cock did nothing. Fingers pushing and prodding at his entrance gave a trace of release, yet it couldn’t push him over. Every time he was caught on a knife-edge and it was never enough. He could hear a Templar’s laugh in a distant part of his mind. _A rock and a hard place_ , he used to say, drunk off the pint of ale in his fist. Cullen could almost taste each word with how loud they rung true.

It was the unforgiving need that called him to ask Cassandra for relief. There were other options besides the woman, to be sure, but Cullen trusted no one else. Asking the Seeker was hard enough, the thought of going to the likes of Iron Bull, or the Inquisitor… Maker, just the thought made his face burn in shame. At least with Cassandra, he hoped there would be no judgement. And to his palatable relief, there was exactly that. Even more surprising, was that she considered what he asked.

Cassandra dog-eared her page at the sound Cullen made, turning the cover almost lovingly as she closed it and placed it to the side. He took that as his cue to begin unlacing the inner knots that held his mantle in place. The woman had complained near the start of their arrangement that the tuffs of fur had a habit of catching in her collar. It left him feeling slightly exposed, but if it was a necessity, then so be it. The Seeker was the one doing him more of a favour, after all. He folded the garment neatly, before moving on to wrestle with the straps of his belt. A bell-like tinkling told him that Cassandra was doing the same. However she, unlike him, would have more straps to command as she pulled at the cords of her contraption and buckled it onto herself.

They were silent as each moved about the upper floor, separately preparing themselves for their routine. Cullen shucked down his breeches till they rested at his thighs and got into position. He braced his forearms against the timber of the railing and tilted his hips so the women behind him could easily part a cheek and slip an oiled finger between the globes of flesh.

There was a soft scrap of leather and a sudden harsh _pop_ as Cassandra uncorked the large bottle of oil that was kept on a shelf to light the lamps hanging from the rafter beams. Cullen peeked at her over the crease of his arm. She made sure not to waste a drop and spread it down the length of her fingers evenly. With her oiled hand, she coated the polished wooden cock tied to her hips. Everything came methodical to Cassandra. Though Cullen ached at the sight of the heavy thing, he let the woman prepare, knowing he would appreciate it later. Enthusiasm that rewarded stiff legs was better left in the past where it belonged.

Her clean hand was cool on the small of his back. Cullen closed his eyes to it and lent his forehead against his vambraces. It didn’t take much to pretend that the hand was larger, rougher and thickly corded. Cassandra had warriors hands—palms covered in hard callouses where the sword grip had rubbed the skin to leather. The scrape felt good, pleasurable even, as she dragged the hand to clutch his hip. Oiled fingers prodded gently at his entrance. A test of his readiness. Cullen pushed back against them, enough that the tip of one slid beyond the tight ring. The Seeker pushed it deeper, curling the digit slightly so that the nail softly tickled the plush walls, and the Commander breathed out harshly through his nose. _She knows I can take it. The woman is a bloody tease._ Cassandra would have the masses believe her a stoic, unshakable rock. Cullen’s private encounters with the woman sung a different song. He knew she liked the noises he made, so he let a small groan slip to encourage her.

The hitch in her breath was almost inaudible. He let out another soft noise, then another until the woman smoothly slid a second digit to join the first. She played with him; turning, scissoring and twisting methodically enough that Cullen was half convinced she really _was_ just making sure he could take the contraption strapped to her hips. With the passing of the third finger, the Commander was having trouble keeping his rasps quiet. The blacksmiths worked steadily below, filling the building with the harsh ringing of metal that resounded in Cullen’s head. His breath heaved with each _clang_ and forge-heated sweat beaded at his brow. When did his vambraces get so hot? The taste of steel was heavy on his tongue as his lips opened with every gasp and his hips rolled _slowly_ with every motion of the other Templar’s hand.

_No. Not his. Cassandra’s. It’s Cassandra’s._

“I’m ready,” Cullen murmured, eager to push the other man from his mind.

Cassandra grunted. “As you wish, Commander.” The digits were removed calmly, and before he could ache at their loss, heated, polish wood pushed at his entrance. Cullen arched his back and spread his legs wider. However ready he thought himself to be, there was always a slight sting as fingers could never fully compensate for the faux cock that slid home.

Cassandra’s pace grew rough as she rocked her hips forward and Cullen let himself be carried by the momentum. The slick, curved head scraped at his inner walls. Each time the cock missed that bundle of nerves he arched and twisted, trying to force the perfect angle. The need within him had become a beast – rabid and ravenous. It clawed at his gut as the edge that normally evaded him when alone came closer and closer. There was a mouth at his ear, panting hotly. The voice was a rumble in his thoughts; rolling thunder in the distance.

“ _Come on, Rutherford_ ,” it growled. Cullen shivered at the taste of ozone.

It became so easy to let himself slip deeper, even if he desperately tried to shake away the thoughts at the same time. _Focus on her. She’s here, not him._

There was a sudden weight on his back as the body behind him leaned forward to thrust deeper. The cut of the breastplate left him wanting in its ambiguity. Who did those chapped lips belong to? They dragged along the ridge of his ear with each rough piston of the person’s hips. The hands at his waist were clenched tightly and Cullen could feel fingernails biting through the swaths of cloth.

“How close are you, Commander?”

The beast in his gut had sunk its teeth into every part of him. His nerves, frayed as they were, still sparked with each word. He could no longer tell who the voice belonged to, only that it inched him along to release. He could have sworn that the scrape on his neck was the harsh brush of stubble, and that the fingers that dropped down to wrap and pump at his cock were far from feminine. A flick at the tip ripped a groan from his throat, and even though the motions didn’t stop, there was a pause in the air.

_Well?_

“C-close, Leigh. I’m close,” Cullen spluttered.

His answer was rewarded in earnest as the body behind him shuffled slightly and the hand on his cock rubbed a digit at the base of the head. _What is he? I… oh—_

With a vicious thrust, the new angle of the cock within him sent Cullen spiralling. _Maker have mercy._ Stars filled his vision and his teeth gave a sudden and sharp ache. He unclenched his jaw in a hitched gasp. The onslaught did not stop, despite the shake of his weakening knees against the floor. He was tempted to ask Samson to slow, lest his senses overwhelm him, but Cullen couldn’t quite get the words past vague flashes of thought.

He came with a cry and the taste of cold steel on his tongue. The hand on hip shifted to catch the ropes of cum from the purpled tip whilst the other worked his length, squeezing every last drop from Cullen. The sweat was like ice on his temples. Their sting called him back from the high he had reached, plummeting him back into reality. He looked down as the calloused, but essentially feminine hands removed themselves from his person. The wooden cock inside him acted likewise, and Cullen was left with the strange sense of dissatisfaction that always permeated every encounter, no matter how many times he came.

Pushing the feeling away with a heavy breath, he tugged the cloth of his trousers up and quickly tied the drawstring. His time with Cassandra was never to be one-sided. He had asked something of her and she had requested a way to return the favour. Requested with all the cold clarity that Cullen hadn’t been able to fumble into. Whether the Seeker really felt that way, he couldn’t say, but an inkling told him she had asked him in a way that allowed her to keep that stoic armour and the dignity of the both of them.

A shuffle of cloth behind him let the Commander know the woman had wiped his waste from her hand and set about removing the faux cock from her waist. The straps were undone as calmly as they were buckled. Once placed to the side, she looked at him expectantly, turning away only briefly to lay back against the worn floorboards; legs spread wide. Cullen took in the lines of her muscles calves, travelling up the ligaments and across the deep creases of muscle to her core. His touch was sporadic at first as he moved to lay on his belly before her; and the taut skin twitched with every clip of his nails of her thighs.

Cassandra’s scent was strong as Cullen nosed at her heated clit. He licked a stripe, testing and as teasing as she had been with him. Cassandra didn’t give him the satisfaction of a whimper, but he could see her lips twitch from between the cleft of her legs and hear a gasp that was barely there. Her taste filled his mouth – not an unpleasant thing. It never was. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, pulling the woman closer so he could taste just a little bit deeper. Fingers in his hair encouraged Cullen; gentle, yet with an edge of roughness that could only be from a warrior.

He worked her. Swirling the tip of his tongue around the little nub and lapping between the folds. Soon, her twitches turned to grunts, and her grunts to soft sighs. Cassandra moved with him, rolling her hips to meet his tongue. When Cullen looked up, he found her lost in her own world, eyes closed, and the name of a mage escaping between her teeth. He thought nothing of it. Cassandra had done the same for him.

“More.” As soft as it was, it was still a command. Cullen obeyed without question.

The Seeker’s sighs became hastier. Hotter. The hand carding through his curls became more demanding even as the juices mixed with saliva spilled down his chin from how readily he played with her. That gentleness gone, it was almost painful by the time she came. For the tail end of a second, the Seeker let herself go, her wetness weeping across Cullen’s cheek. Her cry wasn’t loud, but it was there; buried in heavy breaths that poured from her open mouth. The sting of pride Cullen felt in his gut was a hard thing to smother.

 

\--

 

“Really, Rutherford. I would’ve figured this had already crossed your mind.”

Samson leaned back in the chair he had carelessly thrown himself into, his hands spread mockingly. A replying twinge of annoyance made Cullen scowl at the map rolled out before them. How was he supposed to know that the pass was penetrable from the south-east? Thick jungle had strangled the entire route for centuries, and no source of his had made note that part of it had been cleared. _Though_ , he thought, eyeing the teasing smile plastered on the man before him, _that was why Samson was here in the first place._ Still, that didn’t mean he enjoyed the dig at his skill as a commander.

At Cullen’s scowl, the grin on Samson’s face grew wider. He leaned forward, his presence feeling so large despite Cullen standing at his side.

“Come on, love. Didn’t mean it like that.” _Bullshit, he didn’t_. “Just would’ve thought your scouts would’ve searched high and low in this place,” Samson said, raising an eyebrow in scant apology.

Cullen’s scowl soften. _Maker he had missed this damned man_. Two years ago when the Inquisitor had dragged the Red Templar General to his knees, Cullen was far from ready to forgive. Like a dog on a chain, Samson had been handed to him. “ _Make him remember the vows he took.”_ The Inquisitor’s command had been akin to a whiplash in the hall that even the Commander flinched at.

Cullen could feel Cassandra’s eyes on the back of his neck at the judgment, and thereafter. Their meetings had continued of course, until they didn’t. Until Cullen’s groans for the man in chains became louder, until Samson’s smirk became more distracting than annoying, and until Cullen had desperately kissed him in front of the crackling hearth. To his credit, Cullen had managed to stay angry at the man for over a year until the dam broke. But when it broke, it broke, and Cassandra understood completely.

Their arrangement had never been loving, just mutually beneficial. And when Cullen spied the Inquisitor swooping down to kiss the woman on the ramparts, he couldn’t have been happier.

A brush on his thigh pulled him back to the present. Samson’s smirk had soften as well, and his eyes swept over Cullen with a long, appreciative affection.

“You know,” he rumbled, “I think this can wait, don’t you? The Inquisitor doesn’t need it for a couple of days yet.”

“And?”

“ _And,_ ” he drew the word out to its edges. Cullen felt a tingle in his spine. “Think I’d rather have you on my lap, in all fairness.”

Cullen pushed the man’s face away with a snort, ignoring the pretend huff. But when Samson saw Cullen untying the laces of his mantle and shucking off his breastplate with a smile, the mock scowl died before it had even had a chance to fully form.

“Didn’t think you’d actually go for it,” he said, both pleased and with a tinge of awe.

The breastplate dropped to the floor with a _clang_ that echoed throughout the tower.

“Perhaps I’m feeling a little sentimental.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> http://theon-stark.tumblr.com/


End file.
